What it Takes
by WinkytheUnwillingFreeElf
Summary: Helga and Rowena had been inseparable for as long as they could remember. When strange things start to happen to the pair, the Ravenclaws must rethink everything and Helga and Rowena must take comfort with two young men who come from much different backgrounds but are drawn to them nonetheless, The situation get's thicker when Rowena takes an uncertain liking to the young Salazar.
1. Prologue

She stood in the doorway of the castle, the candlelight from within creating a halo around her dark hair and making her look like a filled-in outline to the man standing in the rain. His robes were dry, though the rain pounded him like shards of rock. A hood kept his face from the woman's view, but that didn't stop her from frantically searching his face, looking for the man she knew, she loved. Her heart plummeted as he started to turn away and she felt the castle, hill, even the ground beneath her feet crumbling around her with a jarring impact.

She took a step out into the rain, out of all she had ever known, and away from the safety she and the other founders had ensured. But she would go anywhere for him. She would walk into fire if she had him at her side and his hand in hers, straight into the flames without a second thought. He did this. He made her want to laugh, cry, and fume all at the same time, but she didn't want to spend her time doing anything else. He made her feel something, something she hadn't felt since her parents' untimely deaths years ago. She couldn't let it slip away into the night so easily.

Her barefoot squelched into the mud, splattering the hem of her robes with the thick liquid. She hadn't cast a spell on her robes so she was immediately soaked to the bone and felt like a drowned cat. The man took a step away from her, then another, moving farther and farther away. Her panic picked up and tears joined the rain running down her cheeks. "Please, don't do this." She gasped out, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe correctly. "You don't have to go. You promised you would never leave me. Please, please don't break that."

She struggled forward a few steps but the mud refused to relinquish her right foot and she fell to her hands and knees, her rich midnight robes becoming forever ruined by the trace of mud that was imprinted on them in that moment. She was sobbing now and she was sure her pale face was turning red. She reached out her mud-covered hand to him. "Please. Please stay with me." The man turned back to look at her for a short moment before turning around and running away from the castle and the past that would haunt him until his cursed days finally ended.

The woman struggled to her feet, screams that sounded like they came from a dying animal wailing from her throat. "SALAZAR!" Rowena Ravenclaw screeched. "DON'T LEAVE ME!"

A crack of thunder erupted, blocking out Rowena's cry. The students and professors ate their dinner in the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, totally unaware that one of their founders was leaving them forever, and another wished she could go with him.


	2. Chapter 1

Then

Helga ran across the fields, the sunlight catching her red hair and bouncing off it in rainbows. Her thick boots that had someday been her brother's tore up the dirt under foot, trampling down a path through the wheat. The powder blue spread out before her like a dream. She let out a whoop of excitement and leaped into the air, her small fingers reaching for the clouds. In that moment she felt like she was one of the Ravenclaws her mother worked for, so rich that she had the entire world at her feet, ripe as a cherry, waiting to be picked.

Her torn and patched upon patch dress swirled around her as she spun in a circle, her arms flung out and a smile so bright that it rivaled the sun on her face. The too-big boots tripped under her feet and she fell onto her side with a small cry. There was a slight stinging in her hand and when she sat up to look at it, she found that she had cut her palm. Blood dripped down her hand and her forearm to stain the trampled, golden wheat under her. She frowned for a moment, her eyebrows pulling in with effort and focused on the cut and mentally seeing it close up and stop bleeding. Slowly, before her very eyes, she saw the cut stitch together and the blood dry so that the whole thing looked like it was weeks old. Helga licked her thumb on her free hand and rubbed the blood away.

She turned her hand back in forth, even going so far as to hold it up to the light. It was completely healed and devoid of any pain. She giggled held her hand to her chest like it was a lucky charm that she must keep protected. A shout came from the other side of the wheat field and Helga knew that it had to be none other than her mother, calling for the chores to be done. She stood and dusted off her already filthy dress. Her eyes caught her healed hand again and she whispered quietly, "Can't tell mother, she'd be incredibly cross." Helga frowned at the thought of her mother's face if she ever found out that her daughter could harvest the wheat, plant the vegetables, and heal herself if she just concentrated enough. No, mustn't tell her.

Another shout pulled the girl out of her thoughts and she smiled wistfully, happy to return to the estate, even if it meant chores. One glance at the sun told her that her best friend was almost done with her lessons. She set off at a run, tramping the wheat underfoot to the white stone estate and the sun winking at her from above.

Godric pulled the bow back, trying to aim at the dove sitting in an evergreen tree. His blond hair fell into his eyes and he flicked it away impatiently, mentally reminding himself that he needed his mother to give his hair a cut, _again_. It seemed like his hair grew much faster than the other boys in his village; sometimes he would wake up the next morning and have it be the length it had been before it was cut. His tunic was uncomfortable on his chest and he cautiously reached a hand to readjust the leather strap across his chest that attached his quiver to his back when the dove moved. Godric shot the arrow wildly, afraid that he would miss the bird, and just managed to hit the dove's wing, where it lodged deeply. The bird fell to the earth with a strangled cry and a crunch as its spine broke.

"Nice job, son." Rupert Gryffindor emerged from the trees ten feet away, shaking leaves out of the golden blond hair he had passed down to his son. He was quite muscular with strong hands that he used to shape metal as the small town's blacksmith. His clothes were simple, handmade wool, and his wife Mary was already preparing some of the exact same kind for Godric once he grew up a touch more.

The boy turned to his father with a grin, waiting for the praise he knew was coming. His eyes were the color of upturned earth, like his mother's. Rupert dropped down on one knee next to his and ruffled the boy's hair. "Now," He whispered into Godric's ear. "I assume that you purposefully hit it in the wing to keep it from flying away."

Godric's cheeks turned bright red for a second before lifting his chin higher, daring his father to contradict him. "Of course it was! It moved. I needed to make sure it didn't get away." He replaced his bow to his quiver and dusted of his hands.

Rupert laughed and ruffled his son's hair. Godric looked irritated for a second but a smile found its way to his face with the excitement of his first hunt. The boy's farther pulled a stick out of his boot and waved it, muttering "Accio dove" under his breath. The dead and bleeding dove flew out of the underbrush and Rupert caught it with one hand without even looking at the deceased bird. Godric looked at the stick in awe, his brown eyes sparkling. His father never brought out his stick, unless it was to bring stuff to him, provide light when he was hunting at night, or wave it over the cauldron of soup once in a blue moon. The soup always tasted better on those nights.

"Can I use the stick, Dad?" Godric eyed it hungrily. Mary Gryffindor didn't know about the stick; Godric was the only one. The boy thought it was because Mary was magical enough without having a special stick that can bring stuff to you.

Godric's father flinched as if his son's word's physically harmed him. He ran a possessive hand over the thin stick of oak. It was polished to a tee and perfectly kept. "Wand, Godric. Wand." Rupert said sadly. It was the first time that he had ever addressed the 'wand' except for a wink whenever he used it, and Godric's heart sped up. Rupert held the wand out to his one and only son. "Sure," He said. "Let's see if you have a knack for it." The man suddenly looked very, very nervous and he even bit the inside of his lip. Godric couldn't fathom why, unless his father was scared the special wand would break.

Godric gingerly took the wand into his hands, weighing it back and forth before wrapping his small fingers around it. Power surged through him with a jolt, connecting him to the wand. Without realizing what he was doing, he gave a small flick of his wrist and an enormous tree fifty feet away snapped like a twig and fell to the forest floor. The crash rocked both Rupert and Godric; Rupert grinned whooped with elation and pumped his fist into the air. "I knew you had a talent for it, son!" He dropped a hand down on Godric's shoulder, all smiles now. "Maybe it's time we got you your own wand."

Godric looked up at his father with wonder, could he truly be being offered his own special _stick_?

Clouds the shapes of men using fish as weapons and beautiful women riding on the backs of giants to unknown lands flitted across the sky outside the study of Ravenclaw Estate. Quill scratching echoed throughout the room as a small girl, smaller than most girls her age, sat at the desk, copying a manuscript of the Church of Jesus Christ. Not once did she lift her head or even glance out to the day of perfection that was right outside the study's window; she was far too consumed with her task and her lesson of the day which was Latin.

Her dress was perfectly pressed and her braided hair atop her head with not a hair out of place. She was as pale as porcelain because it simply wouldn't do to have a Lord's daughter to have even marginally tanned skin. She sat there like a doll, a doll that small children were not allowed to touch and was placed on a shelf out of reach, collecting dust, until someone finally threw it in a box never to be seen again. But her eyes were alive, they were the deep blue of the sky barely lightening for dawn. They were thought to black more often than not and she had stopped correcting people. She knew they were blue and hot as fire, and so did Helga; that's all that mattered.

The door creaked open and her tutor stepped into the room, his arms laden with books that had taken from the attic. They were all still caked in dust and the girl's nose prickled, but she kept dutifully writing. The man dropped the books on the desk in front of her, waiting for her reaction. He was a small, plump man with thinning hair that fell to his shoulders and he usually wore robes the color of sand and a string of wooden beads around his neck.

When the girl didn't look up, he sighed and walked around the desk, grabbing her by the shoulder with his chubby hand and fingers. "Rowena, it's been hours since your lessons officially ended. You can stop studying now." He let go of her shoulder and stepped back, his attention drawn out the window to the wheat fields.

Rowena held her attention on him for a count of two before looking at the books he had put in front of her. "So much to know, Simon." She murmured quietly. She had been taught as a young lady never to speak above the whisper of a butterfly's wing, or so her mother said. Whenever she was given the chance to play outside with Helga, she yelled as loud as she could.

"But you don't need to know all of it, my dear girl!" He dropped a hand onto her shoulder again. "You are only a woman after all. Most are lucky if they learn how to embroider a handkerchief!" He laughed loudly like he was the funniest person in the world; Rowena only looked at him with a sour expression on her flawless face.

She roughly shrugged out from under his hand and grabbed her quill. "I'm not most women. I'll retire when I finish this paragraph. Fair enough?" She started scribbling away again, not remotely interested in his response. Her shoulders were hunched and her delicate eyebrows pulled low over her eyes in concentration, and Simon was struck with the thought that she was so beyond her years mentally that sometimes she sounded like a church clergyman instead of a girl her young age.

The tutor shook his head and mopped his forehead with his sleeve, suddenly terribly nervous. Lord Ravenclaw simply detested whenever his daughter spent a day doing nothing but reading or writing. "I want Rowena to be educated," He often told Simon. "But I don't want her to be so focused on her studies that she doesn't live her life outside of them."

Simon picked up the tray that had held Rowena's lunch of bread, butter, and cut up fruit, and looked down at her sadly. "See that you do," He said half-heartedly and mopped his face with his sleeve again before slipping out of the room. He was sure that he was going to receive a very lengthy lecture that evening, long after the little bookworm fell asleep, but at least he could spend a few hours talking to the attractive new kitchen girl with the blond hair.

Rowena scribbled away, completely uncaring of her tutor's absence. It was only when about half way through the paragraph she was brought back to her current setting. She had rushed herself, too happy to be lost in the words, and she had torn the paper. The tear cut across the page and through several lines; Rowena felt a silent scream building up in her throat and she balled up her fists so tightly her manicured nails cut into her palms. Her body acted without thinking, her right fist uncurling and moving to hover above the torn paper. A puff of white smoke rose from paper and a hissing noise followed it; Rowena's heartbeat filled her ears and thrummed through her body. The hissing stopped after a few more moments but Rowena didn't move her hand for a solid minute. Terror filled her body like ice water, locking her joints and preventing further thought. Why had she done that? She hadn't even thought about it; her hand just did it like it was the most natural thing in the world. That's what scared her the most: she felt like she had done it before.

Eventually, her curiosity compelled her to take away her hand and look down at the piece of paper filled with her very careful handwriting and absolutely no tear. Her heart stopped for a second before it kicked into overdrive, pumping so hard it felt like it was trying to fly out of her chest. Rowena shoved her chair back and stood, her hands shaking. She ran to the door and threw it open, for once acting her age.

Beth Slytherin kissed her son's forehead, her pride for him showing on every aspect of her humble face. Salazar flushed in pleasure and smiled at her shyly. He shifted in his spot on her working table and watched as she pulled a bundle of nettles down from where it had been hanging in the window, drying. She broke off a strand and tickled his nose with it before grabbing a knife and slowly chopping up the bundle. "Now tell me, Salazar, why do you never want to drink unicorn blood?" She asked him with a wink. Beth had a melodic voice that could make even the angriest man calm down so that he was no more dangerous than a newborn lamb. Her hair was dark, just like her son's and husband's and she loved to wear it down so that reached her waist in lustrous waves. She was almost always barefoot and loved flowers; they were almost always in her hair or tucked behind her ear so that she could smell them all day long. More flowers were in the house than ever before since she had discovered she was pregnant with Salazar's soon-to-be younger sibling. The flowers smelled even better with her heightened senses she had explained to her son when he asked.

"Unicorn blood can save a person even when they're almost fully dead, but if you drink it your life will be forever cursed. Because the unicorn is so pure and magical," Salazar rehearsed, clearly proud of himself. His dimples showed charmingly when he smiled at his mother, clearly wanting more praise. Salazar's hair was closely cropped, the way only his mother's wand could do it. She told him every time she gave him a haircut that she didn't want it getting in the way of his features, primarily being his slightly tanned skin and electric green eyes that reminded Salazar of the scales on a snake.

Salazar's mother gave him a smile that reminded him of the sun rising on the first day of spring: brilliantly white and full of light. She gathered the chopped nettles into her hands and dropped them into her favorite white marble mortar. "Correct! And what do we use Polyjuice Potion for?" Beth picked up the pestle and slowly began to pound the nettles.

Salazar thought for a moment, kicking his legs back and forth. He was tall for his age, much taller than other boys in his village. He was wearing a pair of his father's old boots and they were threatening to fall off his feet at this vantage point because his feet were so much smaller. He contemplated the size of feet and drummed his fingers on the table while his mother carried the mortar to the cauldron bubbling on the fire and added two pinches of the ground up nettles to the boiling mixture. She walked back to the table, absentmindedly running her hand across Salazar's cheek in a motherly caress when she got there. Beth pulled her pine wand out of her apron pocket and conjured a vial out of thin air, and with another flick of her wrist and a murmured word, the remaining contents of the mortar rose out of the stone bowl and swirled in the air to settle in the vial. She stoppered it and placed it on a shelf next to the table for easy-access.

Beth put her hands on her hips and turned to her son, a mock stern expression on her face. "Don't tell me you already forgot!" Salazar shrugged helplessly and looked up dolefully at his mother. "You silly boy! A Polyjuice Potion changes the drinker's features so that they look like any other _person_ they want for exactly one hour. Don't forget that, Salazar."

"Whatever so say, Mother!" Salazar let his gaze wander around the family workshop while his mother bustled around, putting away bowls and sweeping the floor. The Slytherin's were the town's apothecaries and their potions and tonics could cure any illness, so the muggles in the town said. People came from all over, some magical but most not, asking Beth and Arthur Slytherin to heal them or a loved one. The Slytherins loved their line of work and Salazar couldn't wait until he was older and his magic so he could help his beloved parents.

He was pulled out of his reverie when his mother dropped one of their only glass bowls and it shattered on the stone floor. Her face was the color of parchment and her eyes had taken on a glassy quality. Salazar leaped off the table and ran to her across the room by the fire. He stopped in front of her, pulling on her skirts with one hand while the shattered bowl reconstructed itself and flew to his free one. "Mother? Mother, what's wrong?" His heart was pounding in his ears and he couldn't think.

Beth Salazar looked down at her son with tears in her eyes and her radiant smile on her face. "The baby kicked," She gasped out, like she just had to get out. "I just felt the baby kick." Two tears slid down her cheeks but she didn't wipe them away, reveling in them. She focused on her son and the bowl in his hand. "Where did that come from? I dropped it, and it shattered. I heard it."

Salazar looked at it like he had never seen it before. "I don't know," He mumbled. "I was so scared for you, Mother…" Fresh tears sprang in Beth's eyes and she knelt beside her son, very carefully, and pulled Salazar to her, enveloping her in love. Salazar collapsed into her, happy that he had finally shown his magic, happy that his mother was alright, and most of all, happy that his little sibling was still there, growing and getting ready to meet their little family.


	3. Chapter 2

Now

Rowena Ravenclaw adjusted a hair pin and glanced down at the charms text book that was propped up on her podium in the front of the classroom. The boys in her third year Charms class gazed at her dreamily, eyes drifting from her perfect pearl complexion to her dark hair that was neatly twisted and sat upon her head to look like a tiara, and finally to her bewitching eyes that were so blue that they were almost black. The girls were switching among staring unabashedly at the boys, to whispering to each other, and giving their teacher a look that would make lesser mortals' knees melt.

The professor picked up her favorite, slightly tarnished, snowy owl quill and walked around the podium, robes the color of her eyes rustling around her ankles and showing her bare feet and toes. The light from the open windows behind her surrounded her and hugged her like a blanket, making her look angelic. The class fell silent immediately, some boys' jaws dropping open quite literally and other girls groaning into their open text books. Rowena spread her hands out, a slight smirk on her face. "Who can tell me the spell that will give an object wings?"

Several hands flew into the air, almost all boys, all vying for Rowena's attention. She quickly scanned the faces of the students and rested on the only girl who had hand half-raised in the very last desk in the in back of the room. Rowena smiled and dipped her head at the girl, "Can you tell me, Edith?"

Edith nodded, her small blond curls falling into her grey eyes. She opened her mouth to speak when the door flew open with a crash. Rowena snatched her wand off the podium beside her, her soft and sweet demeanor instantly replaced by a warrior willingly to do anything to protect her charges. The students shrieked and a lanky boy slid out of his chair and onto the floor because he had reacted so harshly.

A towering stack of crates slid into the room, followed by Salazar Slytherin who looked highly proud of himself and with a mischievous smile hiding behind his small goatee. "Sorry about that, love. I couldn't get the door wi-"

Rowena flicked her wand and Salazar ran into an invisible barrier. He glared at her, but that was nothing compared to Rowena's flushed red cheeks and overly bright eyes. She flicked her wand again and the crates floated to a corner and settled there, even going so far to align their corners so that it all looked perfectly straight and neat. A boy in the front started to clap before her eyes flashed to him and her nostrils flared. "That would be detention tonight, Elton. I'll inform the house elves that you'd like to help them clean the dinner dishes without magic." She didn't bother to watch the boy's face fall; she turned her attention to Salazar who was glaring at her. Rowena waved her wand and the invisible barrier fell away.

"What was that for?!" Salazar shouted, his momentary happiness gone like sand in the wind. His hand inched a fraction toward his wand but he immediately stopped himself, knowing he could never use magic against Rowena, never do anything that could possibly ever harm her, but sometimes she was so frustrating. He wanted to show her what he could do when someone got on his bad side, but that compulsion was only half-formed and was gone as soon as he realized what it was.

Rowena held his gaze, but spoke to her class. "Class is dismissed for today. Study everything you can about the spell _alatus_, and write a foot and a half of parchment on its everyday uses. You will be quizzed over the information tomorrow and Thursday we will practice performing the spell. And before you even ask, Garfield, I really appreciate your love of learning, you know we can't meet every day and one two-hour session a week is by far enough." A pudgy boy in the third row looked as if Christmas had been cancelled, and the class stood silently and filed past the two founders, looking curiously between the two of them. "And if anyone listens at the door, they will be joining Elton in detention."

The students practically ran out the door and the last one-little Edith-closed the door behind her. Rowena cast a _mufflato_ spell on it then placed her wand on her beloved podium and crossed her arms, glaring at Salazar. Salazar tipped his head back, picking her apart with his gaze. "Are you going to answer me?"

"I've told you that I hate it when you interrupt my classes. I was at the beginning of a lesson, Salazar!" Rowena started pacing back and forth in the front of the class, her nervous energy and temper rolling off of her in waves. "Now I'm going to have to adjust all of my lesson plans!"

"That was the supplies you asked for months ago!" Salazar said acidly, pointing at the stacked crates. "I was being _nice_ and bringing it up to you as soon as they arrived, because I know you've been waiting for it! Not that that matters at all, just the fact that I interrupted your third year class. Not that any of them actually learn, the boys are too distracted by your impeccable beauty and the girls are too busy plotting your destruction for said beauty." He dropped unceremoniously into a seat that a student had vacated, his usual mood of annoyance and traditional acid remarks settling over them.

A part of Rowena perked up when she heard him call her beautiful, but she pushed on, determined to get her point across. "It was very kind of you, but couldn't you have just set them outside the door? Then I wouldn't have had to assign that homework and I could have explained the spell properly." She absentmindedly started pulling on her ear lobe, a nervous habit that she didn't grow out of.

Salazar looked up at her and met her eyes; he felt his annoyance and angry slip away as easily as water on a smooth stone. Her blue eyes captured the light perfectly in this setting, and he felt he could look into them and see right her into her soul, her passion to teach, her deep sadness over the events in her past, and the part of her that had feelings towards him. Salazar gulped, his Adam's apple rising and falling. "Then you wouldn't have known it was me, and I wanted you to know." Salazar whispered, still holding her gaze. He didn't know what it was about the charms teacher, but the bright light and love she brought to everything seemed to clear the shadows that usually clouded his thoughts.

Rowena felt her resolve float away on the wind coming in from the open windows behind her. She ran to him, her robes flying out behind her like a flag, and threw herself onto his lap, wrapping her arms around him. He buried his face into the hair piled on her head, breathing in the smell of roses. "It was very nice of you," She whispered into his chest, not daring to open her eyes, afraid that she would find the moment all her imagination.

"I know," Salazar said with a snarky edge, but the hands that ran across her arms and back were gentle and loving. He knew everything about Rowena, from the tips of her waist-length curls to the toes she refused to wear shoes on. That was the only thing that didn't look like it came straight from her old home, the Ravenclaw Estate.

"I need to rewrite that lesson plan," She murmured against his skin. "But I just want to stay right here until the castle around us crumbles down from old age." She nuzzled his neck, as if trying to prove her point. Salazar chuckled and held her for a moment, savoring the moment and imprinting it on his memory. Then he pulled back, and kissed her lips softly. Rowena stayed there, not wanting to pull away. Salazar unhinged her, created cracks in her perfect exterior, and though that was unnerving, she craved it.

Salazar chuckled again and pushed her off his lap, setting her gently on the floor. He stood and wrapped his arms around her for one moment, two, trying to gather up the courage to walk away. Rowena eventually did it, gathering up her resolve and stepping back, the pain written on her face. Salazar's expression mirrored hers as he turned away and walked to the door. He turned back at the last minute, giving her a sly grin. He pulled his wand out of his pocket and gave it a slight wave; the pins flew out of Rowena's hair and clattered to the floor. Her lengthy tresses fell down and settled on her shoulders and down her back. "I like it that way," He informed her, and slid out of the door.

She stood there, trying to motivate herself to pick up the pins and begin the slow process of putting up her hair again, but it didn't come. She sat down behind her desk and rewrote the lesson plans for her third year class, then started grading her sixth years' essays, her heart not really in any of it. About thirty minutes in, her best friend Helga burst into her room, her scarlet hair flying around her in a mess and dirt on her cheeks. "Oh, Row! You will not believe what just happened!" She hugged her hands to her chest, so happy she couldn't contain it.

"What is it, Helga?" Rowena asked only half paying attention because her mind was still on Salazar's adorable goatee and smirk that only added to his charm.

"Salazar and I are in love and are going to get married!"


	4. Chapter 3

Then

Night had settled on England like a cold blanket, Salazar sat on the dirt floor of the Slytherin cottage, drawing lines and connecting them with circles. His mother Beth was stirring the rabbit stew over the fire, her face turned red and sweaty from the emanating heat of the flames. Her bulging stomach was getting bigger every day; nobody else saw it but Salazar did, because he always saw the little changes in everything. Beth was humming a lullaby she had used to sing Slytherin to sleep with; lilies were braided into her hair that shimmered in the flickering light of the two candles on the table and the blazing fire.

The boy connected two lines with a third and the drawing became his mother in her favorite gown. Salazar smiled to himself and drew five straight lines and a circle that became his father. More lines became him and finally an oval became the new baby that was expected any day.

His mother was making preparations as fast as she could; every day she would set two knitting needles to work while she concocted potions and healed ailments. They made blankets and knit caps to keep the baby warm when winter's chill crept in under the door and through the thin walls. Their clicking drove Salazar to a near-breaking point, there was nothing like trying to study old tomes and ancient spell books, and hearing an incessant _click-click-click_ of the needles hitting together. But he never interrupted them, if only to see the look on his beloved mother's face whenever she walked in from her workshop and saw them working. That look was magical, and she didn't even need a wand to create it.

A cold gust of autumn wind blew in as Arthur Slytherin threw open the door and gave his small family an anxious smile. Arthur was a tall, lean man who was slippery as a serpent. He could barter and argue any merchant down to the price he wanted, then tell a joke and have you giggling for hours. He had Salazar's electric eyes and a smattering of freckles on his tanned skin from the long hours spent searching the woods and looking for various plants, fungi, and other potion ingredients. His boots were old and the leather was cracked but he refused to get new ones because they felt like a second layer of skin giving his feet protection.

He strode over to his son and ruffled Salazar's small shock of hair. Salazar grinned up at his father and pointed to his picture. "Father!" He said gleefully. "Look, it's our family!" Arthur bent down so that his face was right next to his son's and his eyes were narrowed in concentration. Salazar was so happy with himself he could barely stand it, but he didn't miss the fact that his father had a gray pallor to his skin and he looked utterly exhausted; there was also a glazed look to his eyes as if he were under a spell. Before Salazar could ask why, Arthur had nodded, smiled at him, and straightened up.

Arthur strode to his wife who had her arms crossed tightly across her chest and her lips pinched up; Salazar thought this was the first time he had seen his mother without some semblance of joy on her features. "What is it, Arthur?" Her voice caught and her hands went to her stomach, cradling it. After being married to her husband for nine years, she practically knew what he was thinking. Those four words broke the spell over him and he ran to the walls, pulling jars and other things off the shelves and shoving them on the table in the middle of the room. Candles, preserves, strips of dried meat, candlesticks, vegetables from the garden, and Salazar's few toys carved out of wood all lay pathetically on the table. Salazar watched as the pile slowly grew and felt a cold horror start to fill the pit of his stomach.

Beth didn't give up so easily; she planted her hands on her hips and glared at her beloved. "What happened, Arthur?" He ignored her completely, tipping a trunk over and sifting through its contents. "Arthur?" Her face was turning red and her eyes were narrowing. He ignored her again and picked up his pace, practically sprinting around the cottage. Salazar suddenly feared that he would be trampled under his father's feet.

Beth retrieved her wand from her apron pocket, tears sparking at the corners of her eyes. "_Petrificus totalus!"_ She said loudly, her wand pointed at Arthur. He stilled immediately, his muscles seizing up and freezing. Beth gave a small sob, one hand clutching her chest, and her wand hand hanging limply at her side. "You have to tell me what's going on, Arthur. Right now!" She waved her wand half-heartedly and Arthur relaxed, doubling over and taking deep, long breaths.

He stayed like that for a few moments and the scene truly sunk in for Salazar. His mother had tears in her pretty eyes and his father looked terribly sick and nearly deranged. Salazar looked down at the picture he had traced into the dirt, and felt his heart break. The family in front of him was the exact opposite of the family in the picture. Salazar raked his hand through the dirt figures; they were scary reminders of what his family hand been just minutes before.

Arthur lifted his head, his eyes rimmed in red. "They know, Beth." Her reaction was instantaneous: her features became slack and she stumbled backward until her back hit the cottage wall and she leaned against it, as if gaining support from the very bones of the house. One of the lilies fell from her hair and drifted to floor. "I was in the forest, getting blue bird feathers for the potion for the Gryffindors a few villages over." Arthur continued, as if he was unable to stop talking. Beth's face became paler with every word. "I found a beautiful male, as blue as the clearest of skies. I didn't want to hurt him, you see, so I used a stunning jinx and caught him when he fell from the tree. It worked perfectly and I rennervated him without any harm. But when I turned around, there was a boy of about twelve looking at me with his mouth hanging open. I ran home as fast as I could, but not before some of the men confronted me. I'm sure we have only minutes." He glanced out the single window by front door and Salazar swore he could see an orange glow becoming brighter and larger.

Beth gifted herself one moment to simply sob, her shoulders curving protectively around her stomach and keening wails shaking out of her chest. She closely resembled an animal who was backed into a corner, chased by death, and was finally giving up. The moment came and went with a whisper of the wind. She straightened up, and tears still streaming down her cheeks in torrents, seized a blanket from Salazar's straw pallet on the floor, and spread it out on the floor. Arthur hastily placed items he had collected on the table onto the blanket and when there was a fair amount, Beth gathered up the blanket and tied it off. "Salazar can carry this," She murmured to herself before she helped her husband with a much larger bundle.

Salazar had been watching the orange glow outside of the window which he now realized was torches. They were right outside the cottage by then and he could hear shouting voices like thunder. He covered his ears with his hands and curled in on himself as the pounding on the door, window, and walls started. Beth and Arthur looked at each other for a devastatingly long moment, the hopes of their perfect small family shattering around them. They finally nodded at each other once and sprang back into action. Arthur picked up Salazar from the floor; his hands were shaking but his arms were strong and comforting. He opened the door to the only other room in the cottage: the apothecary workshop. Arthur set his son down just inside the door and kissed the top of his head. "I love you, Son." He whispered and straightened up, looking like a man who had lost his will to live.

Beth ducked around him and handed Salazar his bundle and her wand. "You remember the spell for unlocking doors?" She said quickly, looking frenzied and like she was dying on the inside. Salazar gave her a quick nod; of course he did. "When it's all over, run. Run past the other villages. Find the Gryffindors. They'll take care of you." She wrapped her arms around him tightly, so tight it hurt. "Keep your hair short," She whispered. "Your eyes don't shine otherwise." She straightened up. She had stopped crying, but she too looked like a person who had lost her will to live. The two stepped into the main room of the cottage to face their fate and locked the workshop door just as the door to the scary outside world was thrown off of its hinges. Salazar was left in the dark.


	5. Chapter 4

Now

A hand dropped onto Salazar's shoulder and he jumped, just barely stopping a scream that fought to break out of his throat. In his mind, he was back in the cottage, waiting for the muggles to take his parents away from him forever. He shook his head, coming back to present and the staffroom of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He had been staring into the fire, oblivious to the near constant activity of the entrances and exits of the witches and wizards around him; his mind being haunted by the demons that had followed him closely for most of his life. Now he was alone except for his dearest friend, Godric Gryffindor who stood there looking down at him with concern on his face. "Are you alright, brother?" Godric said quietly; the pair had gotten into the habit of using the term since they had lived together ever since they were seven years old.

Salazar smiled grimly up at his friend and stood from the chair he had been sitting in. The room felt cold and lifeless with just the two of them in it and he wanted to leave as quickly as possible. "What time is it?"

Godric smiled a smile that made girls practically fall over, or so Salazar was told. "Lunch!" The men grinned at each other and practically ran to the door; they were just as excited for the meal as the students were and looked forward to it every day. Godric threw the door open and marched out, Salazar falling into step beside him. "Did you take Lady Ravenclaw's things to her?" Godric insisted on calling her this because he simply loved her surname and thought it deserved the title. It was only in the quietest of moments that Rowena told Salazar that she hated the nickname because it reminded her of the life she might have had and the past that haunted her just as Salazar's haunted him. But she would never tell Godric this, she said, because she would never admit it to anyone else, and because of the joy it brought him.

Salazar gave his friend a sideways glance and quickened his pace. "Of course I did. She's been waiting for it longer than we were waiting for our cauldrons and straw dummies." He thought of how horrible her reaction had been we had just wanted to see a smile and those bewitching eyes light up with delight. Though, he wouldn't give those kisses up for anything. Rowena was one of the main reasons he accepted the idea of the school and he would go through thousands of foundation-shaking fights with her if only to have her make-up kisses afterwards: those were the sweetest ones. They signified regret, apologizes, and a fear of losing the other forever.

"True, true. She is exceptionally beautiful, brother. Have you noticed that?" Godric seemed to be in his own little world full of goofy smiles. Salazar raised an eyebrow, hoping that his friend wasn't hinting that he knew what was going on between Salazar and Godric's beloved Lady Ravenclaw, but that seemed to be the last thing from the blond founder's mind.

"I can't say I have, brother." Salazar replied, lying through his teeth. It was very rare for him not to think about Rowena's beauty within a day. "I must ask, why are you bringing it up?"

Godric looked at Salazar and grinned, all of his teeth appearing in abundance. The head of Slytherin couldn't see why women found it attractive; it looked like he had pulled back his skin and left his bone uncovered for all to see. "I've been taken away by her ever since we met when we were young, Salazar. I think it's time I told her that." His smile became bigger and he quickened his pace, eager to see Rowena at the staff table.

Salazar was brought back to when he first told Rowena how he felt. They had been going through old manuscripts in her classroom by candlelight because the sun had set long ago. She had her hair in its infamous bun but one moment in frustration over not being able to read a whole page, she had torn out the pins and her ringlets cascaded down her back before settling down with a slight bounce. Salazar had watched with wide eyes because for those few seconds, the girl who was detached from everyone around her and separated from the rest of the world's population by an invisible wall, was truly there next to him being her true self without a mask on. He hadn't been able to stop himself from leaning across the desk and kissing her. She had cried that night, Salazar remembered, and he still didn't know if it was from sorrow about the person she had become, happiness about finally not being alone, or fear that he would leave her like her parents had.

Godric's words resonated in Salazar once he realized what his friend said. Salazar imagined Rowena sneaking to Godric's chamber to tell him goodnight in the wee hours of the morning because she always read until she knew the nightmares wouldn't haunt her, and Rowena cradled in Godric's arms in a secluded glade in the forest where she would whisper her innermost thoughts into his ear and Godric would whisper his back. Salazar felt like his stomach had disappeared and left a gaping hole in its place, a hole that would get bigger and bigger until it consumed you. He shook his head, thinking that was nonsense, but the hole didn't go away. To Godric he said, "I don't think so, Godric. She's worried about her fifth years and their O.W.L.s and doesn't have time for anything else." Salazar tried to seem nonchalant but his words had a hard edge to them.

"Why do you say that? Don't tell me you love her too?" Godric said accusingly and waited a moment before bursting into laughter. A big, long laugh that had him doubling over with his hands on his knees and a tear running down his cheek. Salazar's tanned cheeks turned bright red and there was a rushing in his ears. Was he not good enough for 'Lady Ravenclaw'? Was she too beautiful for him? A voice in his mind screamed, and a smaller voice whispered that obviously she didn't think so. It calmed Salazar down and he mentally chided himself for thinking those things to his most precious friend.

Godric got control of himself, only barely for he was still chuckling every now and then and they entered the Great Hall. The students were all already at the tables, taking advantage of the time to talk and discuss the newest school gossip. The other two founders were already at the staff table, looking at what seemed to be a map of the grounds and arguing amiably. Godric waved largely at Rowena and she smiled and waved back, when Godric wasn't looking, she caught Salazar's eye and gave him a sly wink. Salazar smiled beatifically at her, the hole in his midsection closing up. Salazar completely missed the doe eyes Helga was making at him as he greeted the first year Cromwell Malfoy, but Godric saw them.

"You know," Godric said confidentially to his friend, "Helga would be a good match for you. That red hair truly is breathtaking." Godric patted the young, bespectacled Edmund Potter as they passed the Gryffindor table and approached the staff table.

Salazar shook his head ruefully and looked up at the raised table, not even bothering to glance at Helga. His eyes caught and held Rowena's. A slight blush colored his cheeks. "No, brother. Her hair is wonderful, true. But I prefer a woman who only lets her hair down for me." These words slid past Godric like a stream's water flows around a rock, but Rowena heard them. She held her head up a little higher, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.


	6. Chapter 5

Then

Little Rowena ran out of her father's study and right into her best friend Helga; the two fell on to each, becoming a tangled mass of skirts, arms, legs, and throbbing heads. Rowena tried to disentangle herself for a few seconds, but to no avail. She let out a small cry of frustration and immediately heard the sound of pounding feet. "Oh no," she whispered and tried harder to escape, but it only made it worse. It was a matter of seconds before someone found the two young children, and stood looking down on them and tapping her foot. Helga looked up between Rowena's legs and smiled sunnily, "Hello there, Mum!"

Anne Hufflepuff was a stout woman who was as ready to scowl and scold you as she was to slip you a biscuit. Her dresses were a perpetual brown color and she always wore her hair in a loose bun that she did unthinkingly every morning before stoking the kitchen fire and starting the breakfast for the Ravenclaws. Rowena loved her as much as her own mother and when not studying or playing with Helga, she could be found sitting in a quiet corner of the kitchen, watching Anne work.

Anne clucked her tongue and gently grasped Rowena under her arms and hoisted her off Helga before setting her on the floor. She did the same to Helga and knelt in front of the both, fixing their dresses and brushing off the dirt. "Turn around, dear." Anne said quietly to Rowena and the heiress turned around immediately. Rowena's bun had mostly stayed intact, but a few stray hairs had slipped out and a pin had fallen to the carpeted floor beneath their feet. Anne fixed it quickly while Helga grinned at her best friend and Rowena smiled sheepishly back. "There you go, darling." Anne patted the girl's shoulders and stood; Rowena turned back around and gave her favorite maidservant a hug.

"Come on, Row! The blueberries have finally ripened and you stayed in the musty old study far longer than usual!" Helga took her friend's hand and tugged on it, wanting to make the most of the little time they had before Rowena would have to dress for dinner in the dining hall and Helga would tuck in to a small, reserved dinner with her twin brother and sister Richard and Gwendoline.

Rowena looked down subconsciously and ruffled the folds of her dress. Helga didn't understand her fascination with knowledge and her need to know everything, everything from why the moon left the sky during the day to why did an acorn fall back to the ground when she tossed it in the air. Helga felt that if you knew how to garden a bag of potatoes and how to cook a deer in all of its glory, you were pretty much set for life. Rowena was pretty sure that Anne felt the same way her daughter did, but she was always quick to come to Rowena's defense when Helga got on to the young heiress, just as she did now.

"Helga, have you done all of your chores?" Anne put her hands on her hips and tapped her foot once, twice, three times. Helga opened her mouth as if to lie but when she met Anne's eyes her mouth clammed up she shook her head, her cheeks turning as red as her flaming hair. Rowena knew that she shouldn't feel relieved about not being able to spend her precious free time with her best friend, but she just didn't feel like she could deal with Helga's questionings and badgering about everything Rowena did and what Helga would do if she was the heiress of the Ravenclaw estate.

"That's what I thought! Now go finish washing the vegetables then tidy up our quarters. Rory and Gwynnie were fussy this morning and I think some quality time with them will do all three of you good." Anne directed Helga, referring to the twins. The babies had gotten their nicknames two years ago when Helga was five and they were straight out of the womb. Helga had proclaimed that she couldn't possibly say the long names Richard and Gwendoline whenever she wanted to talk to them, so she dubbed them Rory and Gwynnie respectfully. The twins had received the trademark Hufflepuff hair but Rory's eyes were a soft blue, almost purple, and Gwynnie's were brown like the earth she loved to dig around in. Despite the exasperated look Helga gave her mother, she truly did love her brother and sister, and sacrificed much of her time to spend it with them.

"Okay, Mum," Helga said grumpily and squeezed Rowena's hand. "I'll help you dress for dinner tonight, Row, and we can spend time together then." She grinned at her best friend and bobbed her head in the only curtsy Rowena allowed, before spinning around and walked quickly back down the hallway, trying to avoid running and another collision.

Anne and Rowena watched her go silently, and when Helga had disappeared beyond a corner, Anne dropped a hand on to Rowena's shoulder and squeezed. "You look like you could use a nap, my lady. Straining your eyes isn't good at such a young age." Rowena absolutely loathed it when the servants called her lady. A lady was someone who met all people with a smile and spent countless hours sewing designs on to fabric, not a girl who spent all the time she could squinting over small manuscripts and dreaming about why she couldn't fly. On many occasions she told the servants this, but Anne was right; she did need a nap.

She let Anne Hufflepuff escort her to her bed chambers where the quilt on her bed was the same color as her eyes and her walls were covered with tapestries that depicted everything from a unicorn drinking from a burbling brook to a doe walking through the forest. Rowena's favorite was the eagle, flying through the clouds. Sometimes she would sit on her bed and think about what life would be like if she flew away from the estate as easily as an eagle flies away from its perch. Because even though she was as pretty as a princess and had enough to buy all the land she wanted, she was still a prisoner. Imprisoned by her name and the expectations that were piled like bricks on her shoulders.

Anne slowly undid Rowena's bun and the girl's hair fell down her back, landing with a slight bounce. Anne helped her out of her gown and into a nightgown; she pulled the blanket back and tucked in the small girl whose eyes were already falling shut. Rowena never learned if Anne meant her to see what happened next or not, but she was almost sure that Anne wouldn't have done it if she knew that Rowena was awake.

Rowena was never able to sleep unless she had a goblet of water at her bedside. She would wake up, her mouth parched as could be, and drink greedily from it. And often if she didn't have a goblet next her, she could be found wandering the corridors, not fully awake, looking for the kitchen to get a drink. Rowena now watched through eyes filled with sleep as Anne pulled a very slender stick out of her apron pocket and waved it delicately. A goblet appeared in the air and fell into Anne's free, out-stretched hand. Rowena heard Anne whisper a word that sounded like the Latin that Rowena copied every day and the goblet filled with water. Anne placed the goblet on the little table at Rowena's bedside and kissed the little girl's forehead before quietly leaving the room. Rowena looked at the goblet and thought it was like the torn page when she fully fell into a blissful, dreamless sleep.


End file.
